Playing Nicely
by Artemis1000
Summary: Never let it be said that Italy can't play nicely with others… 2P AU with dark!Italy. ItaGer. Content advice: Dark, knife play, blood play, smut. Kink meme de-anon.


Pairing: 2P!ItaGer  
>Content Advice: Blood play, knife play, smut, dark!nations<br>Summary: Never let it be said that Italy can't play nicely with others…  
>Notes: Kink meme deanon for this prompt: AnyGermany-Germany's Hot New Scars. Well, Himaruya-san came out with new, "darker" designs for all the characters and Germany has some pretty hot scars on his arm and I suspect on his chest too. So please, give me a story about them; how he got them, a partner appreciating them in any time period, whatever your brain can conjure. I'm even down with a bit of bloodplay, but please no major guro (limbs coming off) or vore. I'm not picky about pairs, but request no genderbends, please.

**Playing Nicely**

"It's happening again," Italy pouted.

Germany looked up from the map he was studying. "What's happening again?"

"The men are frightened of me."

Germany's frown gave way to a tiny crooked smile. It was the kind of grin born of fond exasperation. "I'm not surprised. You threatened to cut off the English spy's nose."

Italy plucked the hat off his head and flicked a gloved finger against the bouncy black bobble. He put Germany in mind of a content, though bored kitten the way he lay sprawled on their bedroll, feet swaying in the air to a tune only he could hear. "Of course I did. He shouldn't have put it where it doesn't belong!"

Germany returned his attention to the map and the crisscrossing colored lines he had drawn on it. "Sending him home in pieces would have been rash at any rate."

"Ve~ 'in pieces' is Romano's specialty. I only ever send them home in two at the most," he cooed.

Silence reigned once more as Italy amused himself with the bobble and Germany with drawing more lines on the map in pencil, a spider web of possible frontiers and future battles.

With Italy being uncharacteristically quiet, Germany lost himself in the task. He only ever did so in Italy's company. He was the only one he trusted to let his guard down around.

He was roused from his thoughts in a way which only ever happened in Italy's company as well: by the feel of cold steel pressed against his face.

He had barely become aware of the blunt side of Italy's knife resting against his cheek when Italy pressed himself against him, back to chest. He traced the raised welts of Germany's scar with the tip of the knife, a touch so light that it was nothing but a caress. "Tell me… are you scared of me, too?" Italy cooed into Germany's ear. His breath was hot and moist.

Germany turned his head ever so slowly to the side, careful not to cut himself. He brushed his lips against Italy's.

Italy inhaled sharply and froze. After a moment of stillness, his gloved hand darted forward to bury itself in Germany's hair. He pulled his head back at a painful angle and snaked his tongue into his mouth.

It was an odd kiss, fierce and desperate as they both sought to gain control. Italy chuckled into his mouth when Germany grabbed him by the lapels of his uniform jacket; Germany gasped when Italy bit down on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Italy raised his head; his lips were parted as he gasped softly. His violet eyes gleamed.

He had held on to the knife, Germany realized when the blade rasped over the stubble on his chin. A shiver ran through his body, just enough for the sharp blade to nick him. He flinched and hissed, more from surprise than pain.

The gleam in Italy's eyes intensified. He cooed gently as he leant down to kiss the drop of blood from his skin. His lips were soft and cool. It stung as he flicked his tongue over the tiny wound.

Germany used his preoccupation to tighten the grip he still had on Italy's jacket and to twist and to jerk until he had a surprised Italy sprawled all over his lap.

Italy's violet eyes were adorably wide as he blinked owlishly at him. In slow motion, he pushed his bottom lip forward, though he remained far too dumbfounded to do anything else. "That wasn't very smart of you. I could have cut your throat."

Germany didn't deign the ludicrous claim with anything but a snort. "I…" He faltered as a blush overtook his face. He blushed all the more when he realized that Italy looked intrigued – and playful. It was a mood no enemy wished to encounter Italy in, one even their own soldiers had come to be wary of, but in the bedroom… Germany felt heat curl in his belly and travel lower. Italy's little pink tongue darted out to lick his lips as if he knew exactly what Germany was feeling. "I trust you with a knife," he finished weakly.

Italy laughed, a loud, clear sound, so deceptively sweet and innocent. "Ve~ you're cute, Germany!" He darted upwards and locked their lips together once more.

He yielded readily this time, all pliant, submissive lover, a harmless little sex kitten who could cut you into ribbons at any moment if he so wished. Germany wasn't fooled, Italy's moods changed quickly.

The tent was too small for them to stand comfortably, but somehow, Italy still managed to look graceful as he unknotted himself from his sprawled position on Germany's lap and tugged him by the hand towards their bedroll. He wore the sweetest little smile, but his violet eyes shone with hunger.

Germany permitted Italy to push and prod him until he had positioned him to his satisfaction, spread out on his back with Italy straddling his hips. He wore nothing but his undershirt, pants and boots; he would never grow used to the hot Italian nights. Italy, on the other hand, wore his full uniform down to the gloves. "You're overdressed for the occasion," he murmured with a small smile and furious blush as he reached out to unbutton Italy's jacket.

Italy responded with a disapproving, "Ve!" Gloved hands caught his wrists in a grasp that was just short of being painful and forced his arms down until they were neatly placed at his sides. Italy smiled. "Better," he cooed and twisted around to pick up his discarded hat. He placed it back on his head, gave the bobble a flick and flashed him a smirk that made Germany's stomach flutter and twist in the same moment. "Better," he breathed again as his gleaming eyes devoured the sight of Germany spread out underneath him.

Germany swallowed hard though his mouth was dry. Immediately, he felt Italy's eyes focus on his bobbing Adam's apple. His gaze burnt. "Italy," he moaned softly, a plea for Italy to finally, finally do something other than watch him.

"Ve~" Italy breathed and leant down with agonizing slowness. He propped himself up on one elbow next to Germany's ear while the other hand cradled his cheek.

Italy's gloved thumb rubbed affectionately over the scar on his cheek right underneath his left eye, chuckling softly when Germany leant into the caress. His eyes fluttered shut as he concentrated completely on Italy's touches. The leather had once been the softest money could buy, but it had grown rough and cracked from wear. Germany shuddered as his mind filled with memories of rough leather mapping his naked body until dawn in sweltering nights or slipping into his pants to jerk him off with rough, efficient strokes in the lulls between firefights.

Italy's hot breath tickled his face, it smelled of the pasta he'd made for dinner. His tongue darted forward delicately and flicked over the rough, raised skin of Germany's scar. "I remember when I gave you that scar," he breathed and pressed a dry kiss to his closed eye. "I was very upset with you."

Germany opened his eyes to gaze right into Italy's. His breath caught in his throat.

Italy had amazingly expressive eyes. They softened then and Germany knew he was smiling – a real smile, not one of these cruel and playful smirks he would wear on the battlefield. Before he could utter a word, Italy's lips brushed a butterfly kiss on his scar and then he drew back infinitesimally to relocate these lips to Germany's.

It was a sweet, sweet kiss of lips brushing shyly together and a soft little tongue darting forward to meet his. Germany's toes curled in his boots and he arched his upper body upwards, desperately wishing to get closer to Italy, to meld as much of his body against Italy's as he could. He didn't lift his arms from where Italy had placed them.

"I love you, Germany," Italy whispered as he pulled away. He was still smiling. He trailed his hand down Germany's throat to his collarbone and over the broad expanse of his muscled chest to the scars on his right forearm.

Germany wasn't surprised; Italy was fascinated by his scars. He had spent entire nights mapping the scars on his body until he had lavished every single one of them with kisses and sometimes, when they felt adventurous, he would reopen the old wounds with his beloved knife. It never ceased to be a source of irritation to Italy that Germany bore scars he hadn't been given by him.

Would tonight be one of these nights? Germany felt a shiver run down his spine. Immediately, Italy's eyes met his, curious, attentive, predatory. Not so much as a twitch went unnoticed by Italy. Heat curled in Germany's groin and he bit down hard on his bottom lip as he bucked his hips, desperately trying to gain some friction.

Italy stilled him with a disapproving coo. He picked up Germany's scarred arm and brought it slowly to his lips, eyes never leaving Germany's.

Italy's eyes fluttered shut and his tongue darted out to wet the scarred skin. He fastened his lips to the welts then and suckled gently. The reverent expression was the same Germany saw when Italy went down on his knees before him. He would suck and nip with the same delicate caution then and his eyes would be just as attentively fixed on Germany's, at least until he lost himself in the pleasure of Germany hardening in his mouth, of his moans and gasps and trembling fingers teasing that extraordinary curl until caution and delicacy were forgotten in their shared pleasure.

Without conscious thought, Germany raised his free hand to the curl. It was a bit awkward, to reach the curl on the left side of Italy's face with his right hand, but it wasn't the first time he was doing this. His stomach clenched in anticipation of seeing Italy come undone. He smoothed out the curl between his thumb and forefinger, Italy's breath hitched. He twirled it around his finger and Italy keened. Sharp little teeth bit into his scarred flesh to stifle his wail.

Then there was Italy kissing him, furiously and harsh, all clashing teeth and gloved fingers digging painfully into his cheeks.

The heat that had simmered low in Germany's belly exploded. He cradled the back of Italy's head in one large hand, keeping their lips firmly pressed together, and used the other to give himself additional leverage. He rolled them around before Italy knew what was happening, before he could regain enough sense to care at all. Quickly, he repositioned himself on Italy's body, shifting slightly so his painfully hard erection pressed against Italy's.

Italy keened into his mouth and ground himself against him. His fingers continued to claw at Germany's face. "More," he gasped as he tore his lips away for a moment to catch his breath, "touch me!"

Germany smiled gently. "I believe you're in no position to make demands," he pointed out just before his mouth found Italy's curl.

Italy moaned as his body jerked like he was being electrocuted.

He didn't let off, licking and tugging and chewing on the delicate hair strand, until he felt that Italy was just one tug short of orgasm. Then, Germany released him, leaving him gasping and panting, writhing under him. He could have asked the most depraved things of Italy in that moment, it occurred to him, but just to see Italy so completely out of control was enough to send his own arousal to new heights.

"I told you to touch me," Italy hissed and scraped the tip of his knife over the scars on Germany's chest.

Germany froze. He hadn't even realized that Italy had regained the knife. He met Italy's eyes, suddenly cautious. Italy's moods changed quickly, after all. His beautiful violet eyes burned with fury and lust and yes, with bloodlust, but not the bloodlust he would have reason to fear. Germany smiled. "That wasn't nice," he said, mimicking one of Italy's favorite pouty complaints. His eyes met Italy's. "I don't think I will." Italy's eyes burned with a mixture of outrage and excited desire.

Then, Germany captured the curl between his lips once more. He tugged hard.

Italy's orgasm was quiet. He keened and whined and breathed his name, but there were none of the desperate screams he had wrought from his throat before. His face tensed before it went slack and his mouth fell open. He was left gasping for air, Germany's lips still closed around the tip of his curl.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, Italy catching his breath and Germany savoring the sight of his lover.

The knife began to trace the scars on his chest with almost whimsical movements, a casual caress in the afterglow, exceptional only in that it came from a blade rather than fingers. Only the tip of the scars peeked out of Germany's undershirt, but that had never stopped Italy when he bore a knife. A seemingly careless flick here, a tug with the blade there, and the remnants of the undershirt slithered down Germany's chest, the shoulder straps having been severed.

"I wasn't done playing with you," Italy remarked with a pout.

Germany blushed as he leant down to press a chaste kiss to Italy's lips. "I… I'm not stopping you, am I?" he asked awkwardly.

"Ve~ you've been distracting me, though!" The pout increased in force. Italy tapped the knife against his chest once, twice, three times. "I believe you should do as you are told now." The pout reshaped itself into a very familiar smirk and Italy arched his back. He nudged Germany's still untended erection ever so casually, eyes burning brighter at the moan he tried and failed to stifle. "You wouldn't want me to grow bored of playing, would you?"

"I wouldn't," Germany admitted awkwardly, though he couldn't bring himself to meet Italy's eyes as he did so. He burned, but it was so much easier to let go when Italy did the same. Now, with Italy once more so calm and controlled, he felt embarrassed at the mere thought of showing him just how much he desired and needed Italy.

"I want you," Italy cooed seductively. He trailed his fingertips over the scars on Germany's forearm and tilted his head to the side to flash him a coy look. "Will you let me kiss you and hug you and make love to you?"

Germany gave a little groan, too embarrassed for words. He felt his face burn with heat. "Italy…"

"You're adorable, Germany," Italy chirped and flicked the knife sharply across his chest, right along the path of an old scar. It left a stinging line of red in its wake. He raised his head to lick the blood away and came back with red smeared all over his lips.

Germany kissed the blood from his lips. "That's going to make the scar worse," he murmured reproachfully.

Italy's eyes gleamed mischievously. "I hope so." He prodded Germany by pressing the hilt of his knife against the cut on his chest. "Get off."

Germany complied, permitting Italy to turn them around again. He wouldn't have needed to ask; while Italy was shorter and lighter, only a fool would think he could be overpowered with brute strength. But he was happy to surrender himself to Italy's wishes, at least for the moment.

Italy was still dreadfully overdressed… but they had all night to remedy that.

The end


End file.
